


Prank

by yeaka



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Ficlet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-19 04:42:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29745171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Prompto loses so has to call a friend.
Relationships: Gladiolus Amicitia/Prompto Argentum
Comments: 18
Kudos: 65





	Prank

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Final Fantasy XV or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

He knows he’s going to lose—he’s been doomed since the second lap—but he still whines like a wounded coeurl when Noctis careens over the finish line. Bringing up the rear, Prompto doesn’t even try to keep second place. The only reason he doesn’t throw the controller across the room is because they’re at his place and he can’t afford a new one if he breaks it. So all he can do is curl into a little ball around it and groan as Noctis’ half of the screen lights up with confetti. He throws his hands in the air, cheering himself on as NPCs zoom past Prompto’s lifeless buggy. He can’t believe he made that stupid bet.

But he did, and it makes the loss so much worse than if it were just his pride on the line. Now it’s his pride _and_ his friendship with someone. Noctis wastes time hooping and hollering for himself, letting the victory screen eat up Prompto’s sorry half. Their results tally up, Prompto coming dead last.

Reaching for the coffee table, Noctis sends Prompto’s phone spinning towards him. Prompto lets it swivel to a stop in front of his knees. “Your choice,” Noctis laughs through a wide grin. “Iggy or Gladio? And it’s gotta be on speaker!”

Prompto groans. Head in his hands, he runs his fingers through his hair, mind running through the consequences. He needs Gladiolus to keep training him so he can keep up with the rest of the Crownsguard, and he needs Ignis to keep feeding him when he’s at Noctis’. That’s probably not as vital to his training. Really, Ignis is more indispensable to Noctis than him. But Ignis is also so cool and sophisticated and just... more regal than the royal family, and Prompto couldn’t live with Ignis judging him. He _really_ couldn’t live with Ignis never speaking to him again. At least there’s a small chance Gladiolus will laugh it all off, and if he doesn’t, well... Gladiolus’ not at Noctis’ place as much as Ignis is, so Prompto can minimize contact. In another secret way, it might make things easier.

He can’t minimize embarrassment. Sucking in a deep breath, he does it—picks up the phone. Noctis won, fair and square, and Prompto can’t exactly chicken out when Noctis went through with the last dare—buying a bright yellow chocobo onesie and squawking all day instead of talking. It was hilarious watching him try to game with the fake wings swallowing up his hands.

He hopes Noctis gets as much enjoyment out of this. Practically shaking, Prompto slowly punches in Gladiolus’ number. He has them all on speed dial, but he also has the numbers memorized, and doing it manually gives Noctis time to rethink it and take pity on him. Unfortunately, that doesn’t happen.

The phone rings, and Gladiolus’ husky voice answers, _“Hello?”_

Prompto’s eyes clench shut, face screwed up. He grits out, “Hey, big guy... whatchu wearing?”

The silence is thunderous. On the other side of the couch, Noctis clamps his hand over his mouth to hold back the obvious giggles.

Eventually, Gladiolus mutters, _“Uh... jeans and a hoodie. You?”_

Prompto opens his mouth, only to have Noctis kick his leg, and he bites back the swear while swatting Noctis away. He already knows. He was already going to do his duty. He knows he should say _nothing_ , but tries to get away with, “Boxers.” He pauses. Gladiolus pauses. Prompto bites his bottom lip and suffers before awkwardly adding, “ _Just_ boxers.”

_“Okay...”_

Gladiolus doesn’t seem to know what to do with that information. Prompto wouldn’t know either. The giggling noises are starting to escape Noctis’ fingers. Prompto keeps hoping Gladiolus will just hang up and put them both out of their misery.

But he doesn’t, so Prompto has to keep going. “Um... whatchu up to...?”

The answer comes slowly, carefully, obviously trying to manage this minefield. _“Was just thinking about doing some training... you know... some pushups... flexing...”_

“Sounds... hot.” Prompto cringes at himself. 

At least it doesn’t seem to make Gladiolus hesitate. _“...Yeah. You?”_

Noctis leans over and shoves his own phone in Prompto’s face, a notepad app open to display: _Bed._

Another cringe. “I’m, uh... just... sittin’ in bed...”

_“Wanna come over and sit on my face?”_

Prompto squawks louder than chocobo-Noctis did and fumbles the phone so badly that he accidentally hangs up. There’s a split-second where his panic blacks him out, and when he comes to, his phone is on the floor, screen up, the protective moogle case Noctis got him for his birthday doing its job. The clock’s still ticking, so it clearly didn’t break. Prompto almost steps on it just to finish the job.

Then he realizes that the only thing ringing in his ears is his own pulse, racing faster than when he lies under the covers at night and touches himself to the thought of licking every centimeter of Gladiolus’ bulging muscles.

Noctis isn’t laughing hysterically anymore. Prompto glances aside and sees that Noctis’ eyes have grown as big as his own must be. This was not the intended outcome. 

Of course, Gladiolus could’ve been joking too. He probably figured out it was just their usual nonsense. Ignis would’ve rolled his eyes on the other end and told them both to stop being so childish but maybe have never looked at Prompto the same. 

But maybe Gladiolus wasn’t joking and he really was offering to put that big tongue right up Prompto’s tight—

The phone rings, and Prompto nearly jumps off the couch. Gladiolus’ profile picture fills the screen: a sunlit shot with a sexy smirk on his face and his shirt off, so Prompto caught every dark line of his intricate tattoo. 

While the phone’s still ringing, Prompto swallows and asks Noctis, “Uh... could we call that done? And... maybe I could take this one in the bathroom? Alone?”

Noctis’ face is growing pinker by the second. Prompto’s sure he’s a whole-ass tomato. 

“Yeah, um... sure, bud. I’ll do the next race solo.” And he grabs at a forgotten controller, clearly eager for an excuse to look anywhere else. He exits back out to the title menu and selects single player.

The phone’s stopped ringing. Prompto doesn’t know whether to be delighted or disappointed.

Then it starts again and he snatches it up, hurrying off to either apologize or book time to buy condoms.


End file.
